


Unconditional

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-02
Updated: 2010-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-29 20:09:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17814707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Tara checks up on Spike after Buffy beats him. They both need a little TLC.





	Unconditional

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cafedemonde](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cafedemonde).



> This is for cafedemonde who requested: Can I have a fic with Spike and Tara?

Tara found him behind the garage this time. He shuffled feebly at first, trying to crawl further behind the recycling bin, but then sighed and stilled. She couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but she could guess at the expression as he exhaled loudly.  
  
“What are you doing picking through other people’s trash, witch?”  
  
Tara took that as permission to approach. He winced away as she gingerly touched his swollen cheek. It was worse than usual. She stooped to get her arm under his.  
  
He waved her off. “’S not as bad as it looks. Bugger off and leave me to catch my…” He hissed in pain as Tara got him to his feet.  
  
“Yes, you’re perfectly fine,” she said with a sad smile. “Let’s get you up on the porch at least.”  
  
He gave her as dirty a look as his swollen eye could allow and muttered, “That’s all the way up there.”  
  
She left him slouched on the back stoop and hurried into the kitchen for a washcloth. When she returned to the porch, Spike was watching the house warily. Tara knelt down beside him and started to wash the blood from his face. She wasn’t sure if it would help, but it felt like the thing to do.  
  
She turned to wring the rag out and rinse it in a bowl of warm water, and Spike touched her arm. He said, “What are you doing here, love?”  
  
She wrung the rag once more, not wanting to look at him while she spoke. “I c-came to see Willow.”  
  
“Oh, pet.”  
  
Tara felt a brief surge of anger. She bit her lip and was, perhaps, less gentle applying the rag to Spike’s cheek. “What were  _you_  doing behind Buffy’s garage?”  
  
He flinched. Tara put her hand behind his head to hold him still while she worked carefully around the largest cut on his face, just under his swollen-shut eye. She made him look at her, though he was trying to shift his gaze anywhere else.  
  
“Demon?” He offered.  
  
Tara shook her head.  
  
He let his head fall back against the railing and turned as though looking out into the yard. “It’s different. I can take it. This.” He waved a hand toward his face. “This is nothing to me. And we both know it.”  
  
He looked back at her, and there was something heartbreaking in the effort it took. “She violated your  _mind_ , Tara. You don’t come back from that.”  
  
“Even though what Willow did was…” she shook her head again, bit her lip, and looked back at him with resolve. “I miss her. I want to be with her. I-it’s like a hole in me.”  
  
She let the rag fall into the now blood-colored water. “Let me see your ribs.”  
  
He couldn’t raise his arms, so she knew something was up, but he squirmed and protested as she rolled his shirt up.  
  
When his shirt was around his armpits, Tara stopped, and gasped.  
  
Spike closed his eyes. “Looks worse than it is.”  
  
Tara’s fingers ghosted over a mottled landscape of bruises and welts. She stumbled to her feet and went back into the house. Bandages. Splints? She searched through the kitchen cupboards – it was a slayer’s house, after all – and wondered if she called her friend Becky, the pre-med, if she could help, or would that be bad because it was night time in Sunnydale and vampires…  
  
“Tara!”  
  
Tara made an “eep!” and turned, closing the cabinet guiltily behind her. Dawn was wearing a bathrobe and bunny slippers and a big grin. “Are you here to see Willow? Please tell me you were here to see Willow.”  
  
Tara blushed and ducked her head. Dawn’s honest, open approval was very welcome after Spike’s admonishment. “Yes. We talked. B-but I can’t talk right now. Spike’s… hurt.” She gestured helplessly at the back porch.  
  
Dawn instantly took over, helping Spike into the house despite his protests and one or two very real yelps of pain as Dawn handled him a little too roughly. She then showed Tara where the bigger first aid kit was kept and then sat dutifully, cutting bandages.  
  
As Tara wrapped Spike’s ribs, Dawn kept saying things like, “It’s so good to have you back. A part of the team. Here we are, doing that team Buffy stuff! Like fixing up Spike.” Dawn poked him in one of the few bruise-free sections of his torso. “And boy do you ever get beat up all the time. Macho.”  
  
Spike coughed. “Yeah, that’s me. Don’t know when to quit.”  
  
Tara bit her lip. She heated some blood in the kitchen, trying to ignore the cheerful talk between Spike and Dawn. He was telling stories about which bruises came from which terrible beast and making himself out to be a huge hero. Dawn ate it up. “Come on,” she’d say, “I bet there were only four of them, not ten.”  
  
“Four’s enough, Bit. But okay, fine. There were eight.”  
  
Tara stood a while, looking at the microwave after it beeped, not quite ready to go back and face the lies.  
  
The front door opened and a familiar voice said, “Spike.”  
  
“Buffy! Tara found him. He says it was Raknarth demons but I’m betting it was frat boys making fun of his hair again.”  
  
Tara picked up the mug and walked into the living room, head high, purposeful. She kept her eyes on Spike.  
  
He took the mug with an apologetic look. “Ta, love. All better now. I should get back to mine before the sun’s up.”  
  
He struggled to get up, but Tara stopped him with a hand. “Drink your blood,” she said.  
  
He glanced behind Tara and then looked down at the mug. Obediently, he bent his head to drink.  
  
Buffy knelt at the weapons chest, doing a more careful job of putting away her weapons than usual. “Dawn, you should be in bed.”  
  
“Well, I was, but I heard a noise in the kitchen. Isn’t it great that Tara and Willow are back together? Oh! Tara! You should spend the night. I’m sure Willow won’t mind. Do you want me to wake her? Oh!  _You_  should wake her!”  
  
Tara looked directly at Buffy. “I think I’ll walk Spike home first.”  
  
Buffy stared at her. “It’s not safe.”  
  
“Actually, I think it will be safer,” Tara said, lifting her chin. There was a moment of stony silence, punctuated by Spike setting down his mug.  
  
Tara turned and stooped to put her arms under Spike’s. “Don’t,” he said, quietly. She wasn’t sure what he meant, exactly, but she pulled him to his feet and steered him to the door, not looking back.  
  
Buffy stepped forward, as though to stop her, and Tara just smiled brightly. “I have my magic,” she reminded her, and left before the smile failed.  
  
Spike said nothing until they were half-way down the block. “Shouldn’t antagonize the slayer. She needs all the support she can get.”  
  
“And you don’t?”  
  
He turned in her grip and tried to get her to slow down. “Told you – I can take it. I want to take it. I’m not human, love.”  
  
Tara maintained her stride. “I’ve kept secrets all my life. My power, the… the rumor in my family. Who I love. And now I’m keeping this secret, for you, for both of you. And I’m tired, Spike. Tired of being careful what to say and who to say it to.”  
  
“Sorry, love. It’s not my secret to break.”  
  
“Yes, it is.”  
  
He shook his head. She wanted to shake him, make him see. But all she could do is keep supporting his weight.  
  
He took a big breath, his chest expanding under her arm, and then flinched and coughed, which caused more pain and flinching. They had to stop. Tara let him fall against a light post and rolled her shoulder, which was tired from supporting him.  
  
He looked even more haggard under the harsh overhead light. His head hung a bit, but he looked at her, one eye just a glittering line, the other intent. “It’s not my secret. ‘S hers. And I won’t hurt Buffy, not for this, not for anything. And I don’t care, yeah, what she does, when she tries to drive me away or when she just wants to blot me out. My love is unconditional.”  
  
Tara touched his cheek, and her lips shook, as though about to cry or smile or maybe both. She leaned forward and kissed him, gently. He stared at her in surprise. “Mine is, too,” she whispered. Then she put her arm under his again. “Now let’s get you home.”  
  
  
THE END


End file.
